Bubbles
by Mandy of the Amoeba
Summary: Short little scene between Darkwing and Morgana, taking a look at a piece of her past.


A/N: "They called me crazy…they called me insane…they called me LOONY! …boy, were they right." Megavolt 

Anyway, here it is, my first Darkwing Duck fanfiction in five years. I think…. counts on fingers Eh, I guess it must be closer to four, since it was four years ago when Travis (Web Writer Witch) posted his first (and last) Darkwing fanfiction. Which I am in the process of rewriting for him; it'll be posted up here as soon as I make sure that's okay with him. We've been buddies since seventh grade, if anyone was wondering. Oh, anyway, I guess I should get to the point of this. I don't own anything except the story, Disney owns everything else, please don't sue me, etc.

* * *

Even after the length of time they'd been dating, she was still somewhat of a mystery to him. There were a hundred different facets to her, from her explosive temper to her seductive ploys to her exasperating habits. Still, all in all, she was the most mysterious, unusual, enchanting woman he had ever met.

…and at the moment, the most mysterious woman he had ever met was sitting on the front porch of her manor blowing bubbles.

At least, he was pretty sure they were bubbles. They weren't crystal clear like any normal bubbles he'd ever seen; although they were somewhat translucent, these bubbles were…..well, black. He stood watching her for a moment before clearing his throat, and she looked up, somewhat startled.

"Dark, darling, you're….on time!" she said, surprise registering in her voice as she stood to kiss him in greeting. From his perch on her shoulder, Archie mumbled something that very well could have been 'well, that's a first', but Darkwing chose to ignore his girlfriend's familiar and its running commentary.

"Hey, stranger things have happened…." he began, watching a lingering black bubble float towards the railing and stick to it for a moment before popping. Stranger things happened every DAY wih the Macawbers. "Um….Morg, sweetie….what are you doing?"

"Oh, that." she said, having followed his gaze just in time to see the bubble pop. "Well, I was reorganizing the dungeon this morning and found a box of stuff left over from my childhood that I brought with me when I moved here…silly things, mostly. I don't know why I kept some of them." She paused a moment, noting his still somewhat confused expression, then asked, "Didn't you ever blow bubbles as a child?"

"Well, yes, but…I've never seen black bubbles before…."

It was Morgana's turn to look confused. "What color were yours, then?" she asked, puzzled, and he shook his head, taking her hand and pulling her to sit on the aged, cobweb covered wicker loveseat with him.

"Nevermind," he said, picking up the bubble container. Instead of an annoyingly neon shade of plastic, it was, appropriately, black, with a lid in the shape of a skull. Shrugging, he pulled the wand out and blew a stream of small bubbles across the porch. They weren't entirely black, now that he looked closer; like any normal bubble, they reflected back a myriad of differing shades. "What else is in there?" he asked after a minute of silence, gesturing towards the box.

"I haven't finished looking, yet. Mostly just toys and things, I think." she replied, taking the bubbles back from him and proceeding to carefully create one as large as she could before it drifted off the wand. "Have a look, if you want."

He chuckled a little to himself; this was yet another side of his girlfriend that he hadn't really expected to see. She was usually either very passionate, whether in love or in anger, or very businesslike, but not prone to reminiscing. Still, he liked catching a glimpse of her like this; although he loved and was highly attracted to her mystery, what he was really _in_ love with was the woman behind all of that. Scooting the box towards him along the ground, he reached inside, pulling out – and quickly dropping - a jump rope that appeared to be made out of what he sincerely hoped was NOT a dried poison ivy vine. That was followed by a headless doll that looked disturbingly realistic, a toy witch's broom, a deck of playing cards with rather morbidly drawn suits….

"I don't suppose you ever even heard of Candyland, huh?" he joked. Morgana stopped blowing bubbles and blinked at him questioningly, so he just shook his head. "Nevermind….hey, is this you?" he asked, having glanced at a framed picture he'd just pulled out of the bottom of the box.

"It's my mother," she replied casually, taking a quick look at the photo before going back to her bubbles. Dark took a closer at the picture; he would have realized it wasn't Morgana if he had done that earlier. It had been taken too many years ago, and the woman in the picture looked to be about the same age as Morg was now. Her hair and features looked a great deal like her daughter's, and she wore basically the same type of dress, but her eyes were more blue than green.

"Well, I see where you get your good looks," he quipped, grinning. He got no reply, just another large black bubble floating from the wand. "Where is she now?" he asked after some hesitation; he figured, since a mother had never been mentioned, she had probably passed away. Then again, if she was dead, it wouldn't be a very touchy of a subject in Morgana's family. Lots of her relatives were dead. Or undead.

"I don't know, to be quite honest," she answered after a moment. There was a tinge of sadness in her voice that he wasn't used to hearing, although with her next words, she tried to hide it with a brisk tone. "She left when I was about Gosalyn's age, and other than a couple of postcards years ago, I haven't heard from her since."

"I'm sorry, Morg," he replied sincerely once she had finished speaking. A part of him wanted to know what had happened, but he knew he shouldn't press. After all, he himself hated to be pressed for information about his family. If Morgana wanted him to know anything else, she would offer it to him. After a few moments, the silence between them was broken very abruptly.

"She was half-Normal." The words were said very quietly, but he heard them as if they had been deafening.

"What?" he exclaimed, more out of shock than anything else. After Morgana's family had made such a big deal after him being a Normal…

"She didn't tell Father about it when they were first married," Morgana continued, pausing once in a while in her speech to create another bubble from the wand. She stared at the black orbs as they floated away, basically looking anywhere except at her boyfriend. "In fact, he didn't know about it until the night she left. I think the fact that she hid it from him all those years upset him more than the fact that she was part Normal," she added quietly, sighing a little.

"How did he find out?" Darkwing couldn't help but ask.

"Her father came looking for her. We all thought he was dead…even Mother thought so," As she spoke, Morgana gently took the picture out of Dark's hands, looking down at the smiling face. "She had been told that he was killed fighting in a war. When he showed up on our doorstep and Father found out what he was…well, there were some rather loud words exchanged, and the next thing I knew, she was leaving with her father." With another quiet sigh, she put the photo back in the box. Frowning a little, Darkwing reached over to grasp her hand gently.

"I'm sorry…" he said for the second time that evening. They were both quiet for a few moments with their own thoughts. '_Well_,' he thought, '_That explains why Morgana looks so much more normal than the rest of her family._' Next to him, Morgana pulled away from his hand, causing him to look up as she briskly recapped the bubbles and stood up, smiling at him.

"Well, let's go to dinner, shall we? After all, it isn't every night that we're actually on time for our reservations," she said, a little teasingly. He was momentarily confused by her sudden change of mood, but shrugged it off; if she was making an effort to enjoy the evening, he certainly wasn't going to ruin it by badgering her about some bad memories. Standing up as well, he offered her his arm.

The last of the black bubbles popped on the brittle grass in her yard as they walked away.


End file.
